


How to Adopt a Warden

by ramblingAnthropologist



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblingAnthropologist/pseuds/ramblingAnthropologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things Oghren thought he would find in the Deep Roads, a son was the last of them. Vonnar Brosca wasn't looking for a father either, for that matter. Yet, circumstance and a lot of darkspawn bring these two dwarves together in order to find the thing they'd needed all along - a family.</p>
<p>Strictly platonic, with some possible later mentions of Von's relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why this started or why it kept going. But it did. I guess it was my growing like of Oghren and the need to give him something good. Plus, Vonnar developed into a guy he could be proud in, so it happened.

The ale was pretty bad that day.

Oghren snorted into his third mug of the stuff as he worked on his way to getting properly drunk at Tapster’s Tavern. It had become his second home ever since Branka had left him in their first. People might have snickered at him as they passed, but at least they left him alone.

He was free to drink as much of the swill as his heart wanted that day, and he was prepared to do just that. After all, it was a quiet day in the city. Most of the warrior caste was at the Proving for the Grey Warden, while the rest of the dwarfs toiled away at their tasks. It was only men like him and nobles with nothing better to do that crowded the tavern at that time of day, seeking a way to drown their sorrows or forget their tasks.

Maybe that was why he was ready for his fourth mug so quickly. The thought of the puffed up pageantry known as the Proving made his blood boil. Once he had believed in it, even sought honor there. However, one wrong move had stripped the wool from his eyes. They may have lauded it as the pride of the caste, but it was nothing but a way to vet frustrations of the warriors who had been taught to swing their swords and yet forbidden to within city grounds. Besides, the fact that they unleashed trained men and women with sharpened blades on each other without expecting them to draw blood had never made sense. They had trained them, after all, and yet they forbid it.

Just thinking about it made the dwarf take a deep swig from his mug in the hopes of making his mind swim and forget. If he thought too long about Provings, he could still see that damn boy lying dead on the ground, his axe in his stomach. The warriors could keep their sanitized display of force for all he cared. He was fine drinking in the tavern.

Before he could get halfway through his half mug of whatever was on tap that day, Oghren’s attention was drawn to the door. Someone, warrior caste from the looks of it, had just sprinted into the tavern. Out of beath, they ran over to a group of men who had gathered on the other side of the building, in what he liked to think was the cleaner side. They didn’t let him there for a reason, after all.

“You wouldn’t believe what just happened at the Proving!”

What, did someone bloody a precious warrior caste son’s nose because they swung for real? The shaperate must have been up in arms at such an egregious display to the ancestors. The man snorted into his ale as he listened in, more from boredom than an actual desire to know anything. After all, there wasn’t much going on in the tavern that day.

“What, was there an upset?” One of the men groaned. “I had put money on Endrin, please don’t tell me he lost.”

“That’s just it! Someone was impersonating him! They fought in his armor under his name and got all the way to the final round! They would have been named champion if he hadn’t stumbled onto the field, drunk as hell.” The messenger was speaking faster now. “A brand had stolen his armor!”

A brand? Well, that made Oghren put his mug down.

The tavern had fallen silent at that point. You could hear the nugs they used for the stew squeaking and snuffling about in the kitchen behind the vomit-soaked counter, and everyone seemed to forget how to breathe. He didn’t realize he had as well until his lungs cried out for something other than ale.

One of patrons finally spoke up, in a hushed whisper. “Are you saying that a casteless managed to defeat four members of the warrior caste?”

“Completely flounced them! Wasn’t a scratch on him! He mowed through them like they were targets for training!” The man was wetting his lips with a mug someone had provided him now. “When they took off his helmet, there he was, brand at all! By the stone, he couldn’t have been over 18. The guards hauled him off. Hope they at least let him join the Legion instead of killing him. He has some talent for a brand.”

A number of people in the tavern murmured their assent before it was business as usual. Oghren just looked down at his mug. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or order up another round, so he did both.

That kid was as good as dead if he knew the Shaperate. No one embarrassed the warrior caste and lived to tell about it, at least not if they were brand. If they were warriors, they just got stripped of their weapons and reduced to a laughing stock. Not that he knew anything about that, but still.

The man wasn’t sure why, but he raised his fifth mug in the name of whoever had gotten the stones to work his way into stolen armor to fight against his former caste in the Provings. No one else was likely to; he should at least get some tribute before they returned him to the stone via a sword to the neck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oghren meets Vonnar and proceeds to make a mess of things.

Months later, and the ale was bad that day too.

However, he had only managed to get one mug of it down. Oghren left the second one, untouched, with a few coppers as he raced from the tavern, legs running like they hadn’t in years. Word had gotten out that someone was about to leave for the Deep Roads.

He had caught reference to Grey Wardens, but that was about all as he stopped by his house to pick up the axe he was no longer allowed to carry in the city. To his addled mind, he figured he would just need to look for humans. They were tall, so he wouldn’t be able to miss them. Apart from that, he was lost.

Yet, his heart was light as he sprinted towards the entrance of the Deep Roads in the Commons, across the city from the Tavern he had spent his day in. He was surprised he hadn’t thrown up from the running around; his stomach was sloshing with the ale and the leftover meat he had eaten that morning.

Like Oghren expected, there were some tall humans heading out, strange surface plate armor clinking as they walked. However, the one at the front was smaller, stockier. He carried not the traditional axe or sword on his back, but a well-bent bow and quiver to go with it.

A dwarf with a bow. Now he had seen everything.

He put one final burst of speed to catch up. The young man at the front turned to face him, blinking in confusion as he slowed to a stop. If having a bow was bad enough, Oghren almost fell over at the sight of him. He didn’t even have a beard – just a small patch of stubble on his chin, light and patchy like a boy of 16. That wasn’t the thing that drew his attention, though. Under the man’s right eye, burned into the skin, was the brand of the casteless. The warrior didn’t know whether to laugh or wonder what the hell was in his drink. He had heard rumors that the Wardens had accepted the casteless impersonator, but seeing it was another thing entirely.

“Can I help you?”

Oh, right. Words. He needed those. Oghren cleared his throat, the tissue still burning from the last round of drinks. “Heard you were going out to the Deep Roads.”

“That’s true.” The dwarf boy –boy was appropriate in his mind. Men had beards, not patches on their faces – scratched his cheek, right over where the brand was. In the back of his mind, the former warrior wondered if it itched like scars did. He had never been friendly with any brands, so he had never gotten the chance to ask. If it really was burned in, it had to itch sometimes. Burns did that, after all. How there wasn’t a group of people bloody from scratching their cheeks off running around Dusktown was beyond him.

However, even as drunk as he was, the dwarf shook his head. He was getting off track, and he didn’t have much sense left in him before he got ale in his stomach. So, he wracked his brain one last time in order to find the words he needed.

“Can I ask a favor?”

The boy he was speaking to sighed and shook his head, causing his long hair to go flying. “Why not, everyone else does?”

Had Oghren been a little more sober, he would’ve noticed the bitter note in his fellow dwarf’s voice. However, he had lost that sense about a mug ago, so he pressed on in what he needed to say.

“Name’s Oghren, and if you’ve ever heard of me before, it’s probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong.” He laughed, bile threatening to rise in his throat as he did. “And that’s mostly true, but the part they never say is how I’m the only one still trying to save our only Paragon.”

He watched as the boy in front of him squirmed – maybe it was reference to killing kids like him – but didn’t shut him down. The redheaded man took that as a good sign and pressed on, spurred by the combination of ale in his piss and fire in his belly.

“If you’re looking for Branka, I’m the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.”

“Lord Harrowmont already gave us a map of the Deep Roads. Why would we need you?” There was something about the calmness in the boy’s voice that set Oghren’s hackles to their highest point. Worst of all, he wasn’t looking him in the eyes. Instead, the nug pissing in a corner off to the side was what held his focus.

He couldn’t help it – the former warrior let out a low growl to get his attention. “Boy, look at people when you speak to them. I’m saying, nobody else has been able to find her. If we pool our knowledge, we stand a chance of finding Branka. Otherwise, good sodding luck.”

A silence fell over the group of humans and one dwarf. The one he was speaking to still wasn’t looking at him, but he had stopped paying attention to the animal relieving itself. Instead, he was looking past Oghren, towards the entrance of the deep roads.

“Brosca.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Vonnar Brosca. Don’t call me boy.” For a brief moment, their eyes met, then the boy was back to looking at the ground. “You can come with us. Just don’t cause any trouble along the way.”

He strode forward, leaving his new companion in the dust. “Come on. We need to head out to Caridin’s Cross.”

Oghren blinked. In the midst of meeting the strange boy, he had completely missed the part about being allowed to come along. His heart thudded – or maybe that was just gas – and he fell into step with the rest of the group. For the first time in two years, it felt like he was finally going somewhere with this.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, traveling with the strange brand. Or maybe the darkspawn would eat them all. Either way, it beat sitting around pissing his time away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing with the timeline here. Origins pretty much sets it out that Orzammar takes place much later in the game (Dialogue mentioning it's been a year since the fouled up proving and the fact Rica suddenly has a kid... unless dwarf gestation is ridiculously quick. Which I doubt.) 
> 
> In my game, I went to Orzammar first, so that's what happened here. Slight canon twisting, that's all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two dwarfs with very different fighting styles learn a little bit more about each other.
> 
> Ok... I may have hummed "Ready Aim Fire" when I was writing this. Like the entire time. Ready Aim Fire is such a... dwarf song in my mind. Give it a listen some time and think of Orzammar.

It was good to fight again.

Oghren felt the grin stretch across his face as he cut through another Genlock with his axe, blood splattering his face and clothes. He was already covered in the stuff, but another coating didn’t hurt. They had run into the group a few yards after the last, and the ground was becoming sticky as the bodies racked up.

Off to the side, a Hurlock was running over in an attempt to hamstring him. He swung around, ready to intercept, but the damn thing dropped to the ground before it even reached him. There was an arrow through its neck, and another was sticking through its nose. Blood pooled on the ground, accepted by the greedy ground, but the warrior was nowhere to be seen.

He glanced up and spotted the kid standing on an outcrop of rocks, knocking another arrow. As soon as it was there, it flew into the leg of a Genlock that had been giving their human warrior a difficult time. Again and again, the little dwarf followed the same pattern, emptying half his quiver by the time the battle was over.

It wasn’t until after the darkspawn lay dead that he came down to the ground, rifling through the bodies for spare change and salvageable arrows. This brought them in close proximity as he ripped one from the Hurlock’s nose, shaking it off to rid of the worst of the gore.

Unlike Oghren, Vonnar only had spatters of blood on his clothes when their opponents had gotten a little too close. He was dirty like the rest of them from days on the road, but he was relatively gore free. His face was strangely calm as he yanked another arrow from a defeated foe, shaking it off once more before returning it to his quiver. Something about it made the man’s blood boil, so he stomped over to where his fellow dwarf was in the midst of picking through a Genlock’s pockets.

“Warden, I got a question.”

“Yes?” Vonnar didn’t look at him – boy never looked people in the eye, he noticed. It wasn’t just him like he thought – as he continued his work. A small pile of coins and a dagger was all the dead darkspawn had to show for his life, but it was scooped up all the same.

The warrior scowled as he watched the boy continue his work. “What the hell are you thinking when you fire that sissy bow of yours? I was watching you and you looked like you were just taking a piss instead of fighting darkspawn. Didn’t angry up your blood at all.”

Vonnar shrugged his shoulders as he refilled his quiver from one of the dead archers he had taken down. The darkspawn arrows stuck out from his dwarven make ones, but they would fire all the same.

“Aim, Knock, Release.”

“Huh?”

The Warden wiped a smear of blood from his nose as he adjusted his quiver. “Aim, knock, release. Once I get into a good rhythm, I don’t really notice anything but that. It’s like breathing, I guess.”

While Oghren knew non-berserkers thought a lot more during battle, this had him properly stumped. His new companion was practically chanting on the battle field as he fought off wave after wave of darkspawn.

It was downright unnatural.

“Who the hell taught you that?” They were heading away from the carnage now, towards where Ortan Thaig should have been. The marks of the paragons were getting clearer now, and the dwarf warrior could see where his wife had taken chips from the wall to test the stone. It was as good as a calling card when it came to finding her.

Vonnar shrugged again, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped his braids behind his ear. “Nobody did, I just picked it up along the way. It helps close out the world so I can focus on fighting.”

And there was that calmness that pissed the redhead off so much. A boy his age should have been chomping at the bit to get a little blood on his blade. Maybe it was the lack of beard that made him so odd. Had to be. Nothing else would explain it.

“Why?”

The question caused Oghren to turn his head. To his surprise, Vonnar was looking at him for once. It was brief, for he turned away as soon as he noticed that their eyes had met, but it had been enough.

Still, the question made him cock his eyebrow as they continued down the roads that had once belonged to their people. “Why, what?”

“Why do you ask? What do you think about when you’re fighting?”

The warrior snorted, and the sound carried through the deep roads. “Warden, I don’t think. That’s the whole point of going berserk. You just let instinct guide you and it just works itself out. No need to think about it when you’re slicing through a Hurlock.”

Thinking was bad, after all. It led to dead bodies in the Proving ground and becoming the laughingstock of the warrior caste. It made wives leave husbands and never return home. If it was one thing Oghren had learned in his life under the stone, it was that thinking never led to anything good.

He wasn’t too surprised that Vonnar’s eyebrow started to travel towards his hairline. Thinkers like him usually didn’t take the idea too well. Still, it was a little disheartening. If anyone should have understood, it should have been a dwarf.

“Sounds dangerous, but ok.” He shrugged his shoulders one last time before continuing to walk. “Come on, you said Ortan Thaig was this way. We better hurry before we run into another cloud of darkspawn.”

“There you go, thinking again. You’d do better if you thought less and drank more. Maybe then you’d get a beard.” His laughter filled the ancient halls as they continued their walk. Nobody joined him, but they never did. As long as it was funny to him, that was all that mattered.

When all was said and done, they settled down that night in a ruined building of the thaig for a bit of rest. The human Warden – the one that swung his sword and shield around in way too neat a fashion for his tastes – had started dinner. It was grey by the time he got through with it, but it would taste fine going down with a bit of the ale he had stashed away.

Vonnar was off to the side, cleaning off his arrows and checking the ones he had salvaged. His callused hands were precise as he scraped off minute particles of gore with a careful touch, the kind a smith would have killed to have. How a casteless had developed it was beyond Oghren, so he shrugged it off. Yet, the sight of food being ready made him call out to the boy.

“Hey, Warden. Better get some food before we eat it all.”

He didn’t look up from his arrows. “You go ahead and start without me. I’ll grab some in a minute.”

That was something else he did. On top of not looking people in the eye, the Warden was terrible at eating on time. Often the meal got cold and lumpy by the time he remembered it was there at all. Even then, he took tiny pieces, way too small for someone his age. It was downright disheartening to the dwarf.

Oghren wasn’t sure why – maybe it was the ale whispering to him. He had managed to consume about two tankards worth in the time since they had set up camp – but he made his way over to where the archer was sitting. Without much pause or ceremony, he hauled him to his feet.

“I said get some food before we eat it all.”

Vonnar glared at him for a brief moment, and Oghren snorted. It was a piss poor expression, like a nug that had seen a little too much sun. It didn’t have the desired effect of scaring him off – he dragged the boy towards the pot.

“I still had work to do on my arrows.”

“Warden, they’ll be there when you get some food in your stomach.” Instead of letting him get his own bowl, the much larger dwarf scooped out a hearty portion for him. He all but slammed it into the boy’s stomach, tossing a spoon at him at the last moment. “Now, eat and shut up.”

He earned one more nug glare for his troubles before the archer gave up and dropped onto a stone with his bowl. That was enough to put a spring in Oghren’s step as he doled out a portion for himself and sat down to eat inside the ruined building of some ancient dwarf’s house. The ale tasted all the sweeter for it that night, and that was saying something.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oghren sees something he really shouldn't have. Vonnar trains with Sten and winds up on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so Vonnar and food haven't always met eye to eye. Ever since he was a wee one, he gave some of his to his big sister. Thus, he's not at the healthiest weight. The habit of not taking as much as he needs has persisted into adulthood, and it might take him a while to break that.
> 
> Ogrhen's here to give him a hand, though. A rather dirty, blood-covered hand that smells like ale, but a hand all the same.

A week later, and the ale might have been good, but he was too sick to drink it.

There was something about surface air that turned Oghren’s stomach when he breathed too much of it. His stomach rolled worse than the times he had drank far too much too fast, and it begged him for release. He kept it in, though. He was better than that.

They were heading away from the Frostbacks after crowning the new king of Orzammar. Blood still coated their blades from having to fight their way through the loser’s supporters. That had gotten his blood rushing like anything else, and had kept him warm during the first few freezing days up top.

Tonight, they were making camp with the rest of the group, the ones that hadn’t been at the molten city. One of them was a huge man, taller than even the trees, who stomped over to Vonnar with a strange quietness.

“Warden, I hope you have not forgotten our arrangement.”

Oghren watched as the boy’s shoulders slumped. “Do we have to do this? I’m fine with my bow, Sten.”

“You lack ability in close range combat. One cannot shoot the darkspawn when they are two feet away. A bow can only do so much.” The big man’s deep voice rumbled through the camp. “Meet me in the clearing.”

Curiosity washed over the dwarf, replacing the nausea. Maybe he just wanted to see what would happen if someone tried to take the boy’s bow away, or maybe it was just the fact he needed to focus on something other than the fact his stomach was trying to escape through his throat. He wasn’t exactly the stealthiest man to ever come out of Orzammar, but he crept his way over to the clearing a few minutes later, positioning himself in the bushes for a better view.

Somehow, stone be damned, the big guy with the braids had gotten Vonnar to put his bow down. In his hands, he held a dagger and a mace, gripping at them so tightly his knuckles were white. He was being put through his paces, swiping and dodging with every blow the man threw at him. Despite being proficient with a bow, he wasn’t doing too badly. At least the warriors he had left bloody on the ground of the Proving could rest a little easier knowing he wasn’t completely hopeless.

“Focus, Warden. Apply your archer’s eye to finding openings in my defense.”

“That’s a little hard to do when you keep moving like that.”

Oghren had to suppress a chuckle. Apparently, the great archer was more than just living stone after all. He was certainly sweating like any other dwarf as he ducked and dodged, trying to find an opening with his weapons. Soon, the collar of his shirt was completely saturated with sweat.

Maybe that was why he pulled it off and continued to fight in just his breeches. Without his armor or anything else to cover him, it became clear to the dwarf in the bushes just how skinny the boy was. Forget muscle, he didn’t even have fat on his bones. The worst was that his ribs poked out under his skin in a way they shouldn’t for a healthy man.

“Faster, Warden.” His giant taskmaster either didn’t notice or was so used to it that it gave him no pause. Vonnar responded by continuing his parries, highlighting further how little weight was actually attached to his frame. He was somewhere between a dried out corpse and a carcass picked clean by the scavengers. It was almost pitiful to see him swiping at a man twice his size and nearly four times his weight, like watching a nug taking on a bronco. Had Oghren been a little more sober, he would have felt bad. Instead, there was just a vague sense of embarrassment that filled his stomach as he watched the fight continue.

It ended not long after, and not surprisingly, the smaller of the two wound up in the dirt with a groan. The so-called proud Warden raised himself onto his bony elbows, holding his stomach as he coughed.

“That hurt.”

“Of course. If this had been a real battle, your entrails would be at your feet.” Sten – that was the big guy’s name, he remembered now – put down his sword for the moment. “We will finish for the night. You are doing better.”

Vonnar didn’t say anything, just stood up and pulled his shirt back on. At that point, Oghren had to scramble away from the clearing to avoid discovery. However, he had never been a quiet one, and that was only magnified by the fact he was in heavy plate armor. In a matter of seconds, the archer had spotted him.

For a brief moment, the older dwarf got to watch as their group leader’s cheeks turned mottled with a blush. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes looked down towards his feet. He looked the very picture of a boy who had been caught with his pants down in front of girls his age.

“You… saw that, then?”

“You mean the giant wiping the floor with you? Yes.” He snorted as he reached over, thumping the Warden on the back. It almost sent the boy flying, held there only by the force of digging his heels into the ground. “You need to put some muscle on, Warden. Maybe then he couldn’t use you for a cleaning cloth.”

Vonnar might not have been looking at him, but he was close enough that Oghren could witness a rather spectacular eye roll, followed by an all-too familiar setting of his jaw. He had used to give his father that look, before his beard had really grown in. For a brief moment, the dwarf felt older than the stone itself as he stood there, looking at his leader.

He managed to find the words, though they leaked through his teeth like sludge. “Don’t sass me, boy. You know it as well as I do that you need to get your weight up. Looks like we’re going to have to get you on double portions.”

The former warrior grabbed the Warden by the shoulders and started steering him back to the main part of camp, where the rest of their ragtag bunch of weirdos would be waiting for them. It was only that close he really saw how bony and light he was. In a sense, Oghren shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew there wasn’t a lot of money or food to go round in the casteless part of town. If a few didn’t get enough to eat, of course they would be a little bony. However, he had never seen it up close, especially not on someone he knew by name. It was downright depressing that this was the best the famed Grey Wardens had to show.

And to be honest, he was. The other one smelled like wet dog.

He plonked the boy in front of the fire where stew was cooking and doled out a generous portion. This he thrust into Vonnar’s hands. He managed to grumble out “And don’t leave until it’s finished.” before he sat down to his own serving.

Over the lip of his bowl, Oghren watched the Warden pick at his dinner. It was like he didn’t know what to do with so much food. Something sick swam in his stomach when he realized the boy probably didn’t know what to do. No doubt he hadn’t had that full of a bowl in a long time.

He almost took it back, until he watched his fellow dwarf take a cautious mouthful after looking around at the assembled group tucked into their dinner. Vonnar took small bites, chewing slowly. And then, larger ones. Soon, he was wolfing it down like a proper dwarf should. Yet, the entire while, his cheeks burned.

That made the redhead roll his eyes as he slammed the boy on the back. “Warden, nobody’s going to cast you out if you take a little extra. If anyone needs fattening up, it’s you. Now, are you going to take your seconds quietly, or am I going to have to shove it down your throat?”

The look that flashed through the Warden’s eyes was something almost too painful for words. Oghren could have gotten drunk every day and night for the rest of his life, and he doubted he would have forgotten it. There was fear there, but also wonder, just briefly. His fellow dwarf was amazed he got to eat so much in one sitting. Just the sight of it made his cheeks burn under his beard, and he turned away in order to scoop more out.

At least this time, Vonnar took the bowl without complaining. This time, he ate slower, with moderated bites. He still looked around, but it wasn’t out of fear. Rather, it was something that reminded the dwarf of his mother on her better days. She had always had an eye for someone’s bowl being empty before the drink took her. Never had his plate ran empty when he grew up, thanks to that look.

Another thing a lifetime of drinking would never replace. The dwarf made a mental note to sock whoever had done that to the boy, right above making sure he ate seconds for the next three months. Someone had to fatten the Warden up, after all. Otherwise, he would just keep getting pushed around by giants.

That would just be embarrassing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vonnar has a bad dream and Oghren comes to his aid. That aid probably won't help his throat ,but it's appreciated all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so vomit mention for those who can't handle that sort of thing.
> 
> We're rapidly approaching where I have nothing more written, so it might slow down a bit. I'm working on chapter 8 now but it's slow and I might delete it to start over. What can I say, I'm picky.

That night, Oghren didn’t feel much like drinking. Maybe it was the night air, or the fact they were so far from Orzammar, but he just stared up at the sky during his night on watch. The great rivers of lava and the glittering of crystals in the walls had nothing on the stars up above. Each one twinkled, glittered like gems against the blackness of the night. He didn’t even care he was cold as he sat there, staring up so long his neck began to hurt.

It would have been a perfect night if not for the screaming that nearly made him jump out of his skin. He swore, grabbed his axe, and bounded towards the source. The dwarf found it inside Vonnar’s tent, much to his surprise.

“Warden, are you –“ he paused, accessing the situation. There was no blood. Nobody was in there except the young man and his dog. Yet, Duncan the Mabari was nudging at his owner’s side, trying to wake him.

The dwarf’s face was twisted in a look of pure terror as he gripped the sheets, jaw set so tight Oghren was surprised he didn’t hear teeth cracking. Even his dog could do nothing to wake him from his terror, and sweat dripped down his brow.

He let out another scream and shot up in bed, eyes wide and panicked. Then, he grabbed his stomach and turned to the side, reaching for a bucket. Last night’s stew was soon splashing against the wood, creating a sour smell that filled the tent.

“Sorry to wake you up, boy. Won’t happen again.” Vonnar’s voice was rough, and he coughed a few times after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He hadn’t noticed the other dwarf yet, from the sound of things.

The redhead knew he couldn’t creep out of the tent without getting caught. The Warden was too quick, too sharp-eared. Besides, he was in full armor and tramped around like the elephant. Waiting to be noticed was far too awkward for him, so he cleared his throat with a quick cough that rumbled like an earthquake.

Suddenly, a pair of eyes met his for a brief moment before darting to the side. Even in the dark, Oghren could see that the young man’s patchy cheeks were turning bright red. He stood up from his bedroll, still clothed, and carried the bucket with him. The warrior followed him out without a word, watching as the Mabari joined him.

They made a rather motley crew, two dwarves and a dog, walking in the night. How their leader found his way around, the older man had no idea. He was forced to watch the Warden’s back, keeping an eye on the tousled, dirty blonde hair for guidance. Yet, the other dwarf had no problem with the lack of light – it was like he melted through the trees, almost ghost-like.

It was downright unnerving if anyone asked the warrior. Fortunately, Duncan was wise enough not to speak. He might steal pants, but he wasn’t big on holding a conversation. That would have been just weird.

Vonnar took them to the river near the camp, where he dumped out the bucket. He then squatted down and washed his face, shivering as the cold water hit his skin. Apart from the sound of the water hitting the rocks, there was no other noise. A heavy tension had settled over them like a thick fog, and it wasn’t going to leave.

It took the rogue a few seconds, but he spoke as he brushed hair back from his face. “I would appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone at camp about that.”

“What, that you had a nightmare so bad it made you lose your lunch? Warden, you can’t exactly afford to throw up every night.” The warrior frowned as he watched the young man wash out his bucket. “How many nights do you have these?”

He didn’t look up, just kept washing. “It used to be once a week, maybe twice if we had a bad day with the darkspawn. Now it’s up to three nights, sometimes four.”

Vonnar stood, emptying the clean bucket with a splash. “I guess I’m just more sensitive than Alistair. He only has the dreams half the time.”

Without another word, he turned to head back to camp. However, his brief statement only left more questions, and Oghren thundered after him, making enough noise to make the dead in comparison to his silent companion.

He watched as the archer settled by the fire, rolling the wooden bucket in his hands. The young man’s back was a curve as he hunched in on himself, and it definitely wasn’t to ward off the chill. His cheeks were pink, and even the tips of his ears were flushed.

Something about it made the warrior’s chest hurt. With a sigh, he settled down not too far away from his fellow dwarf, giving them both enough space. In front of them, the fire crackled, driving away the darkness and the chill. Under better circumstances, it might have been a pretty nice night.

The redhead struggled with the words at first. “So, uh, you mentioned that Alistair had these dreams too. This some kind of Warden Thing?”

Vonnar didn’t say anything at first, just kept playing with his bucket. It was only when he started picking at the frayed rope handle that he started to speak. “It sees us. The Archdemon, I mean. It’s waiting for us. I think it’s watching me while I sleep.”

He sighed, putting the bucket down. “You don’t have to watch me, you know. I’m fine.”

Oghren scowled and turned to face the other dwarf. “Warden, I just watched you scream bloody murder and void your stomach contents. If I want to watch you, I’ll damn well do it. Besides, that’s my job tonight.”

He shifted, reaching over to grab a bottle of something he had picked up back at the last town. The man behind the bar had said it was mead, but he hadn’t gotten around to verifying that. At any rate, he was pretty sure stuff with honey in it was good for sore throats, and he knew enough about throwing up to remember how that felt.

The warrior tossed the bottle over, not even surprised his companion caught it. However, he just looked at it, briefly glancing over in a look of pure confusion. That was enough to make Oghren groan and slap his forehead.

“It’s got honey in it, Warden. You know, honey, sore throat? Just drink it. It’ll settle your stomach or calm you down, whatever. You won’t be shaking as damn much.”

For once, Vonnar didn’t give him that look that questioned his entire reason for existing. Maybe he was too tired to try. Instead, the young man’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded. With deft fingers, he worked out the cork and took a small sip.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t.” Oghren shook his head and stared up at the sky. “Sounds like you need it, anyway. I don’t think I’d sleep much if I knew the Archdemon was going to be leering at me while I was out. How can it find you, anyway? You’re a dwarf. We don’t dream.”

Had the redhead been paying attention, he would have noticed the archer seize up. Instead, he just took another sip of the mead, a slightly larger one. After that, he put the cork back in the bottle and laid it aside. Lightweight.

“I do.”

Oghren felt his eyebrow almost leave his face. “Want to run that by me again, Warden?”

Vonnar brushed his hair back with his hand as he spoke. “I dream. Sometimes I go to the fade, other times I’m just having nightmares. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember, so it’s not a Warden thing.”

He shrugged his shoulders, looking back towards the fire in front of them. For a brief moment, the dwarf swore his eyes glowed in the light. “I just assume it’s a Vonnar Brosca is odd thing and leave it at that.”

Well, that was true. The Warden was pretty weird. However, there was something just… wrong… about a dwarf dreaming. It was like one without a beard, which, conveniently enough, was also a category he existed in.

Oghren was far too sober to contemplate that. Instead, he just groaned and looked back at the sky.

“Warden, you are too damn weird.”

“Like I said, I’m odd.” He paused, and the man could have sworn he saw his junior smile for a brief moment. “Thank, you, though. I feel a little better.”

Vonnar stood up, and much to the man’s surprise, he took the bottle with him. Without another word, he headed back to his tent, maybe to get a few hours of rest before they shoved off. He left the redhead alone to stare up at the sky, contemplating what he had heard.

Yep, he was far too sober to think about the implications. At least the archer could have left the bottle. Sighing, Oghren settled in for the rest of his long night of star gazing. Whether or not dwarfs could actually dream, that really wasn’t any of his business.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last place he expected to, Vonnar meets his father. It's Oghren to the rescue after a less than successful chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I kind of want to hug Von after this one. That had to hurt. But yeah, I've been dragging my feet on posting this since I still only have 400 words for the next bit. It's hard to get back in the head space I was in, but I'll do it.
> 
> Enough blabbing, I guess. To the chapter we go.

A week later, and he had to admit. The stuff the elves made wasn’t too bad.

They had wound up in a Dalish camp, trying to rustle up one last bit of support before heading off to Denerim. The damn elves had been less than friendly to them at first, but somehow their leader had managed to get them in. For a guy who couldn’t look people in the eye, Vonnar had quite the way with words.

Oghren had never seen much of elves before he had come to the surface. Many didn’t come round Orzammar. The few he had glanced at had been before he had grown a beard, and they had been guests of the late king. He remembered them being tall and rather snooty looking for people who couldn’t grow proper beards.

It was good to know not much had changed. The camp was full of men and women running around in armored skirts, babbling nonsense to each other in some long dead tongue. It was hard to tell what sex was which, and he found he didn’t even want to try as he sat there with his mug of some elven take on ale – or was it mead. Honestly, he didn’t know nor did he really care. It wasn’t bad, but it was certainly odd. Not odd enough to turn down a free drink, but something to consider as he sipped at it.

He and the rest of the group had been asked to wait. Some elf had called Vonnar over not too long ago, asking to speak with him in private. The two were still in the man’s tent, and had been there for about an hour with no sign of coming out. If Oghren hadn’t have known the dwarf well enough, he would have wondered if someone was getting their sword polished.

Well, after a mug of the elf stuff, it was looking more like a possibility. He half hoped whatever the dwarf was doing in there he was coming out on top.

Much to his surprise, after a few more minutes of sitting and waiting the Grey Warden burst from the tent, sprinting away towards the woods. Even in the midst of battle, the warrior had never seen him move so fast. Frowning, he put down his half-finished mug and stood up from the log he had been planted on for so long he was surprised he wasn’t putting down roots, then started after him.

In his haste to flee, Vonnar had wound up by the giant white deer the Dalish called the halla. He had collapsed by their fence, curling up on himself. He was shaking, gripping the sides of his head, and his eyes were shut tight.

“No. No, it’s wrong. He’s wrong. Can’t be true.”

Oghren was out of breath by the time he caught up, feeling his chest heave under his breast plate with every inch he moved. However, the sight of the usually solid archer so scrunched up made something cold drop into his stomach. His mouth went dry, even when he swallowed.

Without a word, the warrior crept over to where his fellow dwarf was sitting. Thanks to the state he was in, Vonnar either hadn’t noticed he was no longer alone or he simply was beyond caring. He was still muttering to himself, rocking back and forth.

“Can’t be true.”

“Warden, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

That got the young man’s attention. Their eyes met for a few seconds, and Oghren felt his stomach drop to his boots. There were tears in the other man’s eyes, and he looked as though someone had just stabbed him. Yet, he wasn’t bleeding, at least he didn’t seem to be physically injured.

Rage bubbled up in the warrior’s stomach as he dropped to his companion’s side. “What the hell did that crazy elf say to you, Vonnar?”

He wasn’t sure why he used the Warden’s first name – he never had before. Maybe it was because Warden didn’t seem to work on him at that point. This time, though, he got through. The younger dwarf looked a little more solid as he started to process what was going on. He wasn’t perfect, though – he was shaking still, and he still rocked back and forth a little.

The archer’s words came out quietly, trickling out between his teeth as if every syllable was a great effort. His chest heaved, like he was holding back the lake they had passed on their way to the Dalish clan, when he answered.

“Fionn said he was my father.”

Oghren blinked as he processed the information. He hadn’t caught much sight of the man before he had dragged the Warden off to speak, but he knew one thing. With his pointed ears and tattooed face, a dwarf he was not.

Realization trickled slowly. The ice on the Frostbacks melted faster. “Wait, what?”

Vonnar brushed a tear away from his eye with the back of his hand, holding it out to marvel at it, like he was surprised it could exist at all. “His name is Fionn. He knew my mother well enough to… well, here I am. I didn’t want to believe him but… we look so much alike, Oghren.”

He was shaking again, and he rested his broad forehead on his plate covered knees. His words came out muffled as they filtered through the metal. “If he’s right, that means I’m not a full dwarf, am I? I’m an elf blood.”

Elf-blood; just the thought made the warrior’s blood run cold. While he knew humans and elves got together sometimes and made pretty brats that came out round-eared and bumbling in the dark, he had just assumed it wasn’t possible with a dwarf. There was just too much difference between them, and he didn’t mean the height.

Yet, memories of late nights and glowing eyes whispered in the back of Oghren’s mind as he stared down at the shaking young man. Dwarfs don’t dream, after all, but elves did. It was only logical an elf-blood could as well.

The man didn’t say any of this, though. Instead, he sunk down next to his companion. At that point, he wasn’t sure what came over him, but he reached over and wrapped his arm around Vonnar’s shoulders. His plate armor vibrated with the shaking, but he held firm.

“Listen, Vonnar. Nobody’s looking but those weird looking deer. They don’t tell tales. If you have to let it out, do it.”

Those words released the flood gates. The archer began to sob, entire body shaking as tears poured down his branded face. Within seconds, he had buried his face in the man’s chest, making both of them rather wet.

It had been a long time since Oghren had hugged anyone. The last person would have had to have been Branka, and that was definitely before she had left for the Deep Roads. They had never been a very close couple, either, so he hadn’t gotten much practice. Yet, the young man needed it, so he made his best effort. There was some stiffness as he wrapped his other arm around him, making sure nobody else could see.

“You let it out, boy. You let it out and don’t leave any of it in.”

“I’m a fucking half-breed, Oghren. No wonder she couldn’t look at me.”

It didn’t take a genius, or even a reasonably sober individual to know who Vonnar was talking about. He had seen the man’s mother when they had stopped by the palace after settling business in Orzammar. A real piece of work, that woman was. There was no love lost between mother and son, he remembered that much.

The Warden kept shaking, even as his sobs slowed down and the tears stopped trickling down his face. Eventually, he was able to move away, but he didn’t get far. The older dwarf kept one arm around him, maybe to hold him back, maybe to keep him from shaking off the face of the earth.

Oghren had never been good at words, especially when he had drink in him. Still, his face screwed up as he tried to find the words to say, tongue tripping all the while. What slipped between his lips wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

“Look, Wa- Vonnar.” He winced before he continued. “It doesn’t matter who your father is or what you’ve got in your veins. You stood before the entire Proving and defeated some of the best warriors Orzammar had to offer. The Ancestors chose you. I think that’s a pretty good sign they don’t care what you are.”

The smaller dwarf wiped the last of his tears from his eyes, the skin red from repeated rubbing. “Casteless, remember? I don’t have ancestors who watch the proving.”

That made the man scowl, and he resisted the urge to cuff his companion upside the head for his cheek. “Let me finish, boy. All the ancestors chose you. Aeducan, Tethras, all those other ones I can’t think of right now. I think that beats out a little bit of elf blood.”

He stood, helping to haul Vonnar to his feet. “Besides, if all of you were dwarf, you wouldn’t have been crazy enough to enter a Proving in stolen armor, and none of us would be here. So, maybe it’s not such a bad thing you’re fucking weird.”

Much to his surprise, Oghren watched as the young man smiled briefly as he finished drying his face. It was a queer thing, seeing emotion on the Warden’s face, but it wasn’t all together a bad thing. Just weird. Like him.

“You’re one to talk about fucking weird, you know.”

“Says the archer with no beard.” The redhead snorted as he clapped the other dwarf on the back. “Now, go clean up your face. The deer might keep secrets, but they’re going to know you were crying if you’re all red.”

Vonnar for once didn’t protest. Instead, he nodded and headed off to wipe off at a nearby stream. Alone, the dwarf was free to indulge his rage in what he felt was a constructive manner. His feet pointed him back to the camp, and he let them take him to the elf’s tent.

The man was still there, fiddling with his bow. When he looked back, Oghren took a half step back. He may have been taller and with pointy ears, but he knew that face anywhere. It was just a little more filled out and the neck was thinner, but that was the Warden all right. Poor guy had had the misfortune of looking like the man who had sired him.

“Can I help you?”

The dwarf shook his head before he spoke, eyes narrowing. “Yeah. I got a bone to pick with you. Why in the name of the ancestors did you tell the Warden you’re his father?”

He watched as Fionn –at least he thought that was the man’s name. Elf names were odd – sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I did not mean to upset him so. He had a right to know his heritage, nothing more. Besides, it’s obvious he isn’t a full dwarf. None of your people have his grace or his talent for the bow.”

The elf paused, looking at Oghren point blank. “He dreams, dwarf. No doubt he knew the truth before I even said it.”

A rather tense silence passed over the two occupants of the tent. The dwarf swore he could hear his teeth grinding his jaw was so tight. Had he had his axe at that moment, burying it in the other man’s skull would have seemed like a wonderful idea. Unfortunately, Vonnar had made him leave it back at camp. Something about being polite to the Dalish.

Enough time passed that Fionn looked over at him again. A rather strange expression passed over his face, and he seemed to study his impromptu guest for a few moments. Just the look of those cold, calculating eyes made Oghren wonder what could be used in the tent to stab him.

“What? Spit it out, elf.”

“I am curious. Why do you care so much about Vonnar Brosca? He is no family of yours, as far as I know, yet you look ready to kill me for upsetting him.”

The dwarf opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, he frowned and closed it just as fast. Honestly, he hadn’t thought about that. He doubted it was even caring. He just couldn’t stand to see the young man that broken up. Nothing had shaken him as badly as seeing him curled up, crying his eyes out as the world fell out from under him.

At that moment, he would have done anything to fix it and bring him some semblance of calm.

He scowled to hide his confusion. “He’s leading this group. Without him, we fall to shit. I didn’t leave Orzammar just to get stuck in the middle of a stone-damned forest.”

“You lie well, dwarf, but your eyes betray you.” Fionn looked down at him, face unreadable. “You refuse to admit you may care for him. Does that frighten you?”

Oghren scowled like he had just tasted something foul. “You’re out of your mind, elf. He’s the Warden to me, nothing more.”

“You can lie all you want. Your eyes tell a different story.” The elf stood up. “From what I have seen, my son has become a good man. He deserves someone being honest. I suggest you examine how you feel closely before continuing to interact with him.”

Judging from the sound of things, their conversation was over. That only made the warrior scowl more. However, he left the tent. Even he could read the atmosphere sometimes. Still, what Fionn had said rubbed at him.

As far as he knew, it was strictly business between himself and the Warden. He couldn’t help it if he worried about the kid. After all, Vonnar was the one leading them. Without him, things quickly went to shit.

And yet… he paused as he rounded the corner, catching sight of the young man. He was better now, eyes dry without a hint of what had occurred, and chatting with Alistair about the group’s next move. Oghren’s eyebrows shot up as he was pretty sure he heard reference to forests and werewolves.

The things they got into for those stupid treaties. He would have laughed if he wasn’t sure it was serious. However, any thought he had about relationships and such were wiped away as soon as he saw the Warden glance over.

There was relief there, and gratitude too. It made him feel pretty good, though he hid it as the other dwarf headed over to fill them in about the plan. At least with his beard, the warrior could fake his expression.

“We’re heading into the forest soon to look for Witherfang.” Vonnar paused to brush a stray hair from his eyes. “First thing tomorrow. The elves don’t think it’s safe for us to leave until then. We’ll make camp.”

“Great, a night under werewolf infested woods. You sure know how to pick our locations, Warden.” And yet, he smiled as he said it. There was no anger there, not really. He was almost as good at faking it as he was harnessing his rage.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the elf’s words forever. Until he had the chance to think it over, he pushed it from the back of his mind. Apparently, he was heading into werewolf infested forests. That kind of required his A-game.

From the sound of things, maybe he should have finished that tankard of mead.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oghren sees something he didn't expect. Vonnar wishes he wouldn't. Zevran doesn't really mind either way.
> 
> (I AM SO SORRY I DIDN'T UPDATE.  
> This is a Christmas present for my pal Jen/reallyfuckinggay. Also, with that, THIS IS BACK TO LIFE. I've got the whole thing planned out and will begin updating hopefully in January 2018. Again, sorry!)

You know, he was starting to get used to this topside thing. The ale was a lot better.

It was Oghren's turn on watch that night, much to his displeasure. They had picked it while he was off, so he had gotten stuck with both the figurative and literal short straw. So, there he was in the dark, staring into the flames and waiting for something to happen.

A lot of nothing, basically.

“Damn nug-lickers...” He reached for his bottle of ever-present ale and scowled upon discovering it was empty. “Even better.”

The dwarf tossed it aside in favor of glaring into the fire in front of him. Everyone else was asleep in their respective tents, even the damn swamp witch who always lingered to the east like she was too good for them. He was glad she was far from him; the few times they had been in close contact her damn witch tingles had made him sneeze.

His eyes lingered, briefly, on the tent a certain dwarf was supposed to be in. It had been a number of weeks since what he liked to call the 'damn elf' incident, and Vonnar had seemingly gotten over it. Well, as much as anyone could get over finding out their father was a damn elf. Really, he could not emphasize the damn elf portion any more than he already was. Well, he could have if he got a chisel and stone but warriors didn't do that sort of thing.

Lucky for the damn elf.

A slight rustle of motion caused Oghren's attention to turn towards a path that led to camp. Someone – two of them from the sound of their footsteps – were talking. They weren't armed, but who the hell would be out that late at night, even on the bloody surface?

The dwarf reached for his axe just in case as the figures came into view. One of them, a lot taller and smelling like leather, was another damn elf. At least this one he was somewhat fond of – Zevran was far better than any they had encountered back with the Dalish. Plus, he had a sense of humor. That definitely helped.

Much to his surprise, the other figure was one he knew quite well. It was Vonnar, bow and quiver slung over his back. He might not have been looking at the assassin while they talked, but there was a definite smile stretching across his unbearded face.

Well... it beat him crying but it was still damn eerie in Oghren's book.

“I am surprised at how well you shoot with an improvised bow, Warden. Perhaps you can show me how you made it sometime?”

“If you feel like hearing a lot of trial and error, sure.”

Oghren's eyebrow twitched as he listened to the pair. Now, he may not have been the master of romance, but he knew flirting when he heard it. Zevran was full of it. Well, he was always full of it, but he meant in the courting way this time. And from the sounds of things, he had his eyes set on Vonnar.

His hand tightened ever so slightly on his ax. “Don't know why I'm here freezing my ass off if you were going to be awake, kid.”

Ok, maybe he felt a little bad seeing Vonnar jump like that, but it was for his own good. Even Zevran gave a small start, but he covered it better. He and Oghren shared a glance across the flames, and it was almost like sparks flew.

Maybe it was the fire; maybe it was them.

“I forgot you were on guard tonight, my friend. It was the only time I could get our Warden away on his own to show me his remarkable bow.”

Yeah, that wasn't the only thing the damn elf wanted to see.

Vonnar's quiet voice broke the fight between them. “You better get to bed, Zev. I'll show you more in the morning.”

“Until then, Warden.” The honeyed tone in Zevran's voice could have supplied mead makers with enough material for a lifetime of booze. He slipped away, heading toward his tent for a night of rest. That left the dwarves alone, standing by the flames.

Instead of heading back to his own tent, Vonnar sat down across from Oghren. Sighing in relief, he laid down his quiver and massaged the shoulder they were often tied to. No doubt pulling so many damn arrows against the werewolves had worn him out.

Hell, his arm still hurt from swinging an ax against a fucking dragon.

“Still feeling it?”

“Feeling what?” Vonnar's glowing eyes blinked at him from across the fire. “Oh... you mean does it hurt?”

Oghren resisted a groan. The Warden, quick-thinking as he may have been, couldn't figure his way out of an expression if you gave him a map. Hell, even he got that one, and half the time he was sauced to the gills.“Yes, that's what I meant. You better get the old woman to take a look at it before your arm falls off.”

Unlike himself, Vonnar did not thrive on pain. If he didn't get his damn shoulder looked at, he wouldn't be any good in a fight. Since they were heading off to Denerim, he needed every muscle working like it should.

And maybe not focus on the one below the belt. That might help.

“I'll go ask her in the morning.”

Well, it wasn't like he was telling the damn kid to go wake her up. Oghren winced at the memory of that – he still swore he felt the lump on his head every time he got a headache. Wynne might have looked like an old lady, but she was vicious.

If only she was like twenty years younger...

Still, that brought his mind back to what he had seen when the dwarf and his elven companion had emerged from the forest. It was like a reflex he couldn't control, but a grin he knew had been described as 'sleazy and gross' slid across his face like it was made to be there.

“So... you and the elf, huh?”

Vonnar blinked up at him in surprise. “Me and the elf... what?”

…

Ancestors, help him.

Oghren scowled as he jerked his thumb towards Zevran's tent. “You and pretty boy over there. I saw how he was lookin' at you. He get you in his tent yet?”

Even in the dark, he could see a scarlet blush spreading across Vonnar's cheeks and chin. “We were just talking, Oghren!”

Yeah, talking. Last time he had been any good at it, flirting had counted as talking. Maybe it didn't up on the surface, but this card game was going by Orzammar house rules. He knew what he saw, and it was definitely not general audience friendly.

… Still, why the hell did he care?

Though he didn't want it, Oghren's mind reflected back on another elf's words. Try as he might to push them away, there was the question: why did he care so much about someone he wasn't even related to? He could practically hear it in Fionn's voice, almost to the point he had to look over his shoulder to make sure the damn elf wasn't standing there. He wasn't, thankfully. That would be creepy.

Vonnar had stopped massaging his shoulder in the time it took Oghren to return back up to the surface. A scowl crossed his face as he reached for his bow and quiver. Now he was standing, heading towards his tent.

“I think you've had a little too much to drink tonight.”

“And I think the elf wants in your smalls.” For spite, Oghren took another sip. “Just tell him to fuck off if it bothers you.”

“Well, it doesn't!”

It was rare for Vonnar to raise his voice. Hell, the only time the other dwarf heard him shout was when there were darkspawn around and somebody or something was getting dead. His voice even cracked at one point to top it all off, making his cheeks glow even redder. He was the picture of a young pup getting caught with dirty letters, only this was something else entirely.

…

Well, he hadn't seen that coming.

Vonnar wasn't finished as he looked over his shoulder. “What I do with Zevran is my business. Whatever we do. Good night.”

If tent flaps could slam like doors, that one would have shook the rafters. Maybe he was imagining things, but Oghren swore he could have heard a muffled squeak of frustration, kind of like if a certain someone was shoving his face into his pillow. Then there was quiet again in the little clearing where everyone else slept.

Yep... he handled that one real well.

The dwarf scowled as he stared back into the flames. “Damn kid. Just wanted to tell him to watch out for the clap.”

Hell if he knew if the elf had it. Hell, for all he knew Vonnar would think it involved a round of applause.That, however, Wynne could tell him. There was no way that Oghren, drunk or sober, was going to sit through that kind of conversation.

Still... as he finished his bottle, he made a mental note to glare at Zevran a little harder in the morning. After all, if he was trying to put his Antivan moves on one of their few actual Wardens, they were going to have problems.

Problems he didn't really get why he cared about, but they were there.

“Couldn't have had eyes for the bard. Hell, it be easier if you wanted in the other Warden's smalls. Had to be the damn elf.”

And he drank to that, alone in the darkness. One thing was for sure: Oghren was going to have one hell of a headache in the morning, and it was from more than just his massive amount of ale. So, a little more scale of the deepstalker that bit him didn't really matter.

At least that's what he'd tell himself tomorrow when the headache and nausea kicked in.

 


End file.
